


Impossible youth

by vermicious_knid



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: 80s aesthetics, F/M, Gen, Vampires, directed by a random french filmmaker with high ambitions, slow-burn, the vhs sequel that never was, this is another mammoth fic that I spent way too much time on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermicious_knid/pseuds/vermicious_knid
Relationships: David/OC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

_Murder my sleep with revel;_  
_Make me ride through the bogs_  
_Knee to knee with the devil,_  
_Just ahead of the dogs._  
_I harrow the Bad Lands level,_  
_I teach the tiger to purr,_  
_For saints may wallow and lie_  
_But I_  
_Go clean-hearted to her!_

\- Badger Clark

* * *

For a vampire, life (such as it is) holds few surprises.

Though there is plenty of fun to be had, so it almost doesn’t matter.

Because as soon as the sun runs and hides, they come out to play.

* * *

Nobody knows what they are – unless they choose to show and tell.

That in itself is a good game to play. It never gets old, especially with the girls who scream, the young men who pee their pants out of fear.

David prefers to linger on the subject, to convince and cajole their victims to be as happy and rowdy as his boys. He likes finetuning the experience, deciding when and how the mood will swing. Other times he is, like any bored predator – unpredictable. Will strike at any given moment, without warning.

But he doesn't like it when his boys do the same, act out before it is time – before he has said that the game as begun.

Other nights they are all of the same mind – of the same rabid fever that yearns to tear flesh apart, to rape the dying and the willful. To torture and to drown young women in the ocean – the beach is their favorite playground for these violent delights. Late at night, Santa carla (the town that doesn't seem to know what sleep is really like) will always lie down and be quiet and still, for a few late hours of the night. The evening crowd of young kids, couples and families with toddlers will all have gone.

* * *

It is during one of these games on the beach that something unexpected takes place.

David, half-lying on the beach among the discards of clothes -bloodied rags, head lolling towards the cold sand – drunk on booze and the nectar of a young man. The other boys are still running around like children, chasing and throwing torn limbs to each other in an absurd mime of volleyball (they have no net). It is then that he hears a rustle among the trees right nearby.

His closed eyes open at the sound, the color of them still that of hellfire. He listens with acute focus and slowly, he smiles.

But not having quite the urge just yet to actually get up from his position, he turns his head in the direction of the noise.

But instead of seeing someone cowering in the bushes, tears running down their face, he sees the bent head of a woman – long dark hair concealing her face. She is hovering over one of the men from the group they just killed.

At first he thinks that she is crying (comical) but then...

She looks up, and it is for a second like looking into a mirror.

Her eyes are the same hellfire, her mouth covered in crimson evidence. When their eyes meet, she freezes on the spot and does not feed anymore. He might be too drunk, but his mind can’t be lying when it recognizes the scent – crushed daises. Did he surprise her just as much as she surprised him?

”Well, hello there.” He purrs at her. She doesn't say anything in return – blood beginning to trail down her chin. She stares at him as if he is speaking an entirely different language. Maybe he is.

But, in the next blink of his eyes, she is no longer there.

* * *

It doesn’t take long until he sees her again. The very next night in fact, without meaning to look for her, he finds her in plain sight.

They are sitting on their bikes in the parking lot outside of the amusement park by the beach when David spots her standing next to a cotton candy machine, talking to lanky teenage boy.

He watches their interaction, but her in particular. Something about her _behavior_.

Unlike Star (a true beauty) this young woman isn’t seductive, isn’t posing or tossing her hair. Her clothes are too big for her, a pink short-sleeved sweatshirt and plain denim shorts. She swipes a taste from the boy’s cotton candy and smiles with mischief but it is wholly without any real implications.

No, her smile at the boy is sunny, happy. Like she might even love him.

Marko shoves him suddenly and laughs.

”Come on man, what are we waiting for?” he says, laughing, wanting to race along the highway until the sun threatens to come back.

* * *

The next night is a friday – an even busier night. And they are all in that particular mood, unpredictable the whole lot of them. Marko shreds car tires, Paul and Dwayne get into a fight over a meal that ends as quickly as it began.

And when David sees her this time, he lets the boys know just exactly what game they are playing tonight.

Other vampires have come and gone in Santa Carla through the years – not very many, but whenever they do appear, it is important to make them know just who the town belongs to.

The lost boys do not like to share their treasure.

The woman is (again) chatting up a young man, both of them leaning against a wall when they all approach, effectively blocking any means of escape. She appears unbothered and happy until she sees him, and then the smile falls quickly.

”Hello.” he begins, and she looks back at him, uncertain – but ah, there is recognition in her eyes. Not guilty, no – but caught all the same. Found out. Her eyes sweep over him and the boys quickly, as if summing up the situation to herself.

”Hi.” She responds, her expression wary and tense now. David reaches out his hand for her to take – but it is just an empty gesture, poison and sunshine waiting if she takes it.

”Why don’t you take a walk with us? We’ve got plenty of nice spots to show you.”

Then, in a funny attempt at protection, the boy steps in front of her.

”Leave her alone man.” he says shakily, and they all roar with laughter.

”Hey man, man, man, man.!” the boys echo, clinging to the boys shoulders, rattling him around like a toy as they laugh at him.

In this temporary distraction, the woman acts quickly – and perhaps almost a little foolishly. Without warning, she jumps up high and grabs hold of the roof of the low building behind her, hoisting herself up. And then she jumps into one of the cars of the skylift, as effortlessly as any cat – it garners the attention of several people below, who stop and point upwards, and before long they have crowded the sidewalk, so much so that the lost boys have to push and shove to get through.

They all run for their bikes and before long they have driven up on the boardwalk, now continuing their chase from below. People have to run to the side so not to get run over, as the boys have no care to stop or to go slower.

But after a short while, David suddenly pulls to a stop. The engine still growling, he considers.

* * *

He follows where his senses tell him to go – and it is not in the direction the others were headed.

She is a good distance away when he finds her, in an alleyway behind a busy club amongst dumpsters and flickering pink and blue neon lights. A rather large man is sitting, slumped against the dirty wall, head down as if deeply drunk or asleep but David knows it is neither.

He has watched the act motionless from across the street.

”It’s been a while since we ran across an acrobat.” he says by ways of greeting, and he takes great pleasure in how she jumps at the sound of his voice in the dark.

But when she spins around and sees who it is, her whole figure slumps, like she’s relieved. He can’t understand that at all.

”Yeah. Sorry about that.” she says, shrugging – looking sheepish of all things. There’s a small red stain on her sweater now that wasn’t there before, and her knees look raw and red – as if someone had pushed her.

”What’s your name?” he asks, lighting a cigarette as he does. Her eyes fixate on it hanging from his lips, watches as he inhales and exhales smoke.

”Mary.”

”Charmed I’m sure.” He says, not looking at her now but at the corpse cooling against the wall. She looks guilty and he is glad of it.

”It wasn’t my intention to make you angry.”

When he looks up at her his eyes are too dark to really see – the color of them indistinct. There’s a reason why he is the one the other boys follow. A priest once called him the source of all evil, when he was still human enough to see the light of day.

”Why should I be?” he asks at length, not really a question. He wants to snap her neck like a twig, but he can draw it out.

”I can leave, if I bother you. It really doesn't matter much to me.”

”Any family in town? I’d love to meet them.”

”No!” she says sharply, and he laughs.

”You really are a bad liar.”

Mary doesn’t laugh along with him or look particularly caught. Instead a sort of grave look (hah) comes over her face for a moment – and she shivers, even though it is never cold here. He wonders at that.

For some reason (the image of snapping her neck over his leg swiftly is still embedded in his mind) he lets her go that night. He can’t put a finger on as to why, and for the rest of the night it vexes him.

* * *

Even though she said (promised, in fact) only to stay in town for a couple of days, a whole month passes and still she is there.

They don’t see her every night, a whole week could pass without a glimpse of her.

But sometimes, in apparently random locations of the town, there is a faint smell of crushed daises – trampled but still fresh.

She is riding the carousel and he hops on behind her, not sitting on one of the horses but walking through the rows to get to where she is.

Mary twists her head to look at him – she’s wearing a dress this time, a short blue thing that looks like it might belong to another decade entirely, like she might have stolen it from an old ladies trunk. Her age is irrelevant really, but if he were to guess he’d say that she was no more than 16 when she was put in the earth, only to rise again with eyes the color of sleepy poppies.

Her hands clench on the reigns of the small white horse she sits on, and this moment feels strangely important – regardless of what his intentions were just a scant few minutes ago.

He was going to ask her – no, interrogate her on how long exactly she was planning to be here, because being hospitable is not exactly his strong suit. And that neck still really looked…

_Well._

His eyes fall to it automatically, her neck bare, dark long hair cast to one side – revealing (and why was he astonished?) downy pale threads of hair, ivory skin exposed to mosquitos that would never bite her. Morbid hunger and something much more unnerving kept his gaze from straying anywhere else.

The moment passed, her hand settled on the mane of the animal and he gave her a brief nod before walking away.

* * *

There were several smaller, more private beaches surrounding the town by a couple of miles distance.

The boys knew these beaches like the back of their hand, and were full of places to stove or hide away bodies – either in the ocean or deep in the sand, smashed against the rocks, etc. It would make sense that she would like them too.

That night, they are not on the same beach but close enough that he can sense that she is near.

Daises crushed underneath an unforgiving foot, that is what he smells.

He wants to wave it off, like a fly buzzing around his head.

Instead he walks away from their bonfire – the boys have lured a couple of girls away from the boardwalk to a hill overlooking the beach, which can be glimpsed in the distance. Far enough away so that nobody can hear the chaos that is to come later.

Her beach is quiet, and dark. Her clothes lie discarded on the white sand, wholly unimpressive without her in them.

She looks naked at first glance, her head and shoulders the only thing visible over the surface of the water. And when she stands, water and skin encompasses all of her – but with eyes that can see the light in every shadow, he sees the cotton slip she wears. Though it makes little difference, the material transparent in the water.

Mary tilts her head down, and then with sudden determination, she dives into the water. He expects her to re-emerge quickly, but she doesn’t.

Several minutes pass, and still nothing.

It’s not like it could kill her – he knows. And even if it could, what difference would it make?

* * *

He discards his shoes and jacket on the sand before diving in after her. The water at night is dark and hazy. He finds her at the bottom, clutching hands over her ears with eyes tightly shut. She struggles against him when he grabs for her, even as they breach the surface. But its only kitten strength, nothing compared to his.

She blinks and gasps - taking big mouthfuls of air, as if coming back to life, the sound sharp and awful in the silence.

But he disregards it and shakes her, wanting to know why.

”What the hell were you doing?”

She stops struggling but doesn't answer him - her chin wobbling, eyes red and charcoal lashes wet, matted. He can't imagine what her screams would sound like, if her silence is this loud.

* * *

He drags her back to the bonfire.

It’s not really a struggle anymore – his hand squeezing her arm perhaps too hard but he doesn't care. This situation needs to be settled – needs to be normal again.

He lets her go as soon as they get there, and there she sits obediently but quietly – hardly moving, two large hazel eyes watching the boys every move, and by and by they ignore her. One look from David is all they need. The giggling, now drunk girls are busy flirting or making out – Paul has already wandered off into a nearby bush with one of them.

Mary wipes at the skin underneath her eyes and watches the fire intently, while David resumes his place of honor, two of the girls already waiting for him.

”Where have you been handsome?” one of them simpers, long blonde hair a cloud of hairspray and bleach. He merely smiles and picks up a beer bottle, taking a large swig. The other girl is identical – twins, of course. He wonders if their terror will smell the same later in the evening.

He calls it generosity when later, he offers one of the twins to her.

It’s scraps really, she’s already dead – half of the fun spent already. Her gaze on the body is funny – she studies it, not with hunger but with the awkward curiosity of a child. She lifts the now limp wrist in the air and watches it drop to the ground, fascinated.

But then, she takes the wrist in her hands again and bites down – hard. Bites the hand clean off – eating the fingers one by one.

* * *

”I would like to go now.”

”Fine. Leave.” he mutters, not quite done with his share of the meal – something feral in his tone of voice. His back sharply bent, pale hair on end and his face twisted into the demon that rests under his skin.

She watches him for a moment and starts to fidget on the spot, lingering.

One of the boys left a pair of sunglasses behind and she stoops to pick them up, settling them on the top of her head before she goes.


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, in small measures each night – she becomes a little closer to their group.

There is tension there still – but now it is mostly playful, curious.

They spend late hours at the 24 hour mall an hour away from Santa carla, trying on new jackets – stealing them, and harassing helpless store clerks for their poor taste in music. They steal food carts and race down deserted hallways and aisles with them, down staircases and escalators – immortality has its juvenile perks. The clatter of metal and the echoes of mad laughter disturb the low-volumed sermon of the sleepy mall jingles, radio adverts and pop music.

Mary hides in the less well-lit clothing stores, trading shoes – undecisive between her old pair of leather moccasins and modern sneakers. Finally though, she throws the sneakers into a nearby waste basket and lits it on fire, quite pleased.

But at the end of the night, there is an unspoken rule– they do not invite her back to the cave.

The boys create a lot of good noise and chaos, and even though she stays out of their orbit, still a tad too polite – she still lingers behind with David for all those moments when the others are busy.

He will glance over at her and scoff, ignore her completely most of the time, like she isn’t worth his time.

And she’ll roll her head and lean into grey concrete walls, stretching a pale neck – exposed medicine for whoever walks by and she doesn’t know that about herself.

He’ll tap a booted foot against the ground, stomp and leave in a huff – overcome with a sour mood that will not pass until someone pays for it.

* * *

The fourth of july is bright as day even during the night – the fireworks lighting up the sky every five minutes it seems like.

In other places it is civil war all over again, kids sabotaging and tricking their friends, throwing crackers at young girls feet to make them shriek with fright. A hazy smoke lingers all over town like a thick sea-fog, the smell of gunpowder, popcorn and burning plastic almost overpowering.

And for them, it is an all you can eat buffet.

* * *

Paul gets a huge crate of fireworks – runs away with it from one of the small storefronts that line the beach, a small angry man shouting chinese profanities after him as he runs, cackling and hooting with laughter.

Even Star and Laddie are in a festive mood, the latter waving an american flag in a happy but almost confused manner, like he isn’t sure what there is to celebrate.

Marko and Dwayne have been in charge of the food for the evening - heavy, large mcdonalds take out boxes and another box – a special box with a closed lid, their version of fried chicken in a bucket but with different contents inside.

They are camped out on their favorite hill, the one that overlooks the town without getting too close. Dull booming noises echo across the sky, and David has been quietly drinking himself beyond the limit of mortality. With each new boom, his countenance darkens.

With a careless smile, he tosses the empty bottles into the nearby carpark, aiming at the cars but missing them on purpose.

He is in that unpredictable mood, even though the boys don’t know it yet. They have never been able to tell when exactly the pendulum swings.

They know it later.

He is stumbling around the cars in a drunken haze when he runs across a group of kids, waving sparklers and laughing at nothing. And his face turns and twists so fast, his eyes set on the one who smiles the brightest.

It’s easy to strangle a child – there are so many ways to twist their faces like pudding.

And when Star hears a high-pitched screaming that doesn't belong to her baby-brother, she covers his ears and cowers, while colorful lights burst and bloom in the sky around them.

* * *

Santa Carla is not a ghost town. Far from it, in fact.

But the days following the fourth, it is eerily empty and silent – no loud voices, no shrieking high-pitched laughter echoing in the arcades. It rains twice during that week, heavily enough to wash away the acrid smell of gunpowder.

The town is almost naked, almost exposed for what it is during that awful week – several of the missing people posters have the colors bleed out, the paper turning to mush – peeling off to reveal even older posters behind them. And then the garbage collectors come and sweep it all up, cleaning up the last reminders that this is a town where bad things happen far too often.

* * *

”What are you doing?”

”Shh – we’re playing.”

”Playing?”

It is an odd picture perhaps. Laddie and Mary lying across the train tracks on the bridge, the former with his tongue stuck out in an exaggerated manner, like a dead dog. Star standing over them, confused.

”You should try it. At least then you’d shut up.” Mary says with her eyes closed, sprawled with her head to the side and long black hair fanning around her. She’s wearing what looks like an old wedding dress, cut off abruptly at the knees – lace fraying and yellowed with age.

”It’s easy, because it only has two rules. Lie still and be quiet until a train comes.” Laddie explains to his big sister, who frowns deeply and tugs him up and away from the tracks.

”It’s not a good game.” she says to him gently, intending to lead him away to play much kinder things when the others show up.

”What’s going on _here?_ ” David, in a voice that is playful and mocking at the same time as he looks at them both, like he caught them doing something they shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time.

”Mary showed me how to play dead!” Laddie exclaims with excitement, and David stoops to his height to meet his gaze.

”So why are you leaving? Wasn’t it fun?” he asks, looking up at Star with a sharp grin, eyes coal black. He loves goading her, even though the response is always the same – fearful silence, a pleading look that he will never yield to.

”I’ll play if the little man is out.” Paul comments, sauntering over as the others quickly join in. They are a fumble of long limbs and rough laughter, but finally they all lie down in a row – not quite silent but almost.

A minute passes, the tell-tale sound of a cigarette lighter opening and closing. His black coat brushes her pale fingertips.

”Uh, is a train even coming?” Marko voices into the air and two other voices groan.

”Shhh! Yes I checked. Five minutes.” Mary whispers, closing her eyes – stars disappearing behind violet lids.

”But when-”

”Shh! Remember, you’re _dead_.”

* * *

They’ve played this game before of course – though not exactly the same, without the theatrics.

They hear the train coming before they see it turning the corner, coming towards them. The boys start shoving each other, make bets on who can stay the longest, laughing with excitement. But Mary remains quiet and very still.

And David can’t really explain just how he knows, but he does. It occurs to him a scant few seconds before the impact that she is not going to move at all.

He manages to yank her off the tracks with him, and shortly after they land in the grass next to them he gets up and glares daggers at her. She smiles up at him, a hard glint of mischief and something else – something ugly and twisted in her expression that makes him want to bring ruin to everyone around them. The train is still rushing past, roaring in their ears.

”What? Did I scare you?” she asks, just like she didn’t just try to decapitate herself. So he hits her across the jaw with a punch hard enough to knock her off her feet. The shock of the act more than anything is what keeps her down in the grass, heaving and breathing hard.

The others keep their distance, watching from afar – knowing that this is not a time to interfere.

Mary gets up after a long moment, a bruise already forming on her rosy cheek, a trail of blood escaping her pink mouth. But she doesn’t touch it or soothe it with a cold hand – instead she spits at the ground and takes off into a sprint, running away until she’s nothing but a blot of white in the dark-blue of the grass in the night.


End file.
